The Feeling of Loss
by Yugao
Summary: Almost a year after, things felt different. Asuma birthday fic


_**The Feeling of Loss**_

_**Yugao**_

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_**Summary: **_Almost a year after, things were different.

_**Author's Note: **_So. I know that dead people don't ordinarily celebrate birthdays, but since Asuma-sensei was such a cool character I decided to write him a birthday fic anyway. Since I don't know the date of Asuma's death, I am supposing that he died a few months after his birthday or something like that to allow at least nine months for the child to be born. (Yes, I am using my creative license. Haha.)

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Asuma, Kurenai, or Team Asuma.

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_Music I heard with you was more than music,  
And bread I broke with you was more than bread.  
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;  
All that was once beautiful is dead._

_**Conrad Aiken**_

**I.**

Dark hair, dark eyes. Sun-kissed, tanned skin. A bright, winsome smile. I smile back as I touch the tip of my index finger to the end of your nose playfully, and your small hands snatch at it. Acquaintances don't know better and could hardly believe that you are my child; after all, you look nothing like me, apart from the rather delicate shape of your face, which is not at all angular unlike that of the person you look so much like and remind me so much of. But people who've known us since you were born, and before that, know very well that you are mine, you are his, you are ours.

You point, and I look at whatever it is that has caught your eye. My smile falls slightly. Your finger points to the flower box by the windowsill. The bright red of the poppies that grow there reminds me slightly of blood, and blood is not something I can bear to think about ever since he died. I tend to imagine too much, I tend to see, at least in my mind's eye, all the blood that was spilled, all of his, in the battle against the immortal pair of Akatsuki.

You wonder why I stop smiling, so I paste it back on just to humor you. It's his birthday, you know. Your dad's birthday today, but there's no cake, no candles, no presents. How much he would have wanted to celebrate. To celebrate with _you, _with me, with the both of us – we'd be one little but happy family. And you wouldn't understand but you'd be happy all the same, because you know that I'm happy, and that he's happy, and that you're meant to be, too.

"It's okay," I shush you, because you sense my sudden sadness and look as if you are about to cry. Don't. Please. I don't think I could stay strong and hold back the tears if you start crying, too. You're fooled by the smile I wear, and start giving a sad smile back. That's enough, for now. At least I see you smile, which is so much like _his _that it's heartbreaking.

I hug you, and you gurgle with happiness, though you don't understand why.

"Happy birthday, Asuma," I whisper, and I am sure that somewhere, he hears it.

**II.**

I hate smoking, but I do it for him. Not often, to be fair. I do not think I could take inhaling that much smoke for long periods of time, like he did. Just one cigarette when I feel like remembering him and the time we shared together. Just one cigarette, and increasingly seldom now as time passes. You'll forgive me, then, for chain-smoking just this one time. I stand on the Academy's rooftop and put-out cigarettes litter the floor under my feet.

It's illogical, but loss forgives faulty logic, and I think that the smoke brings him back. Even if for just a little while. I inhale and there he is, right beside me, smoking one of these horrible cigarettes and telling me to stop coughing and to suck it up, there's nothing wrong with them. There he is, and he tells me how Kurenai and his child is. He smiles and gives me a lame piece of advice I'll never be able to use and pretends it's the most profound thing anyone could have ever come up with.

And even if for just a little while, I laugh.

This was my second father. He introduced me to shogi. He encouraged me whether I needed it or not. He talked to me about all the things I never had a chance to talk to my real father about (like for example, what to do when you begin to realize that you have a thing for a certain blond kunoichi). But he never was _just _my sensei, after all. Above and beyond that he was – is – one of my best friends, even as he stands here beside me as a cloud of smoke, bound to disappear the moment this cigarette burns out.

And it does. So I light another one and try to prolong his presence.

"Happy birthday, Asuma," I mumble, and though it is illogical I believe he hears me.

**III.**

I remember, as I arrange white lilies in the large wicker basket, that he never liked these flowers. I smile sadly at the memory. They're too gloomy, he always said, they smell like death and tears and regrets and you're better off with roses or daisies if you want to make someone feel special. He never liked the color of them, either, if memory serves me right; he always said that white is too plain and too blank and reminds him of hospital rooms, and he always shuddered after mentioning those, and I always laughed.

Today, though, I cannot find it in me to laugh.

I love white lilies. There's something about their fragrance that brings back memories – not anything in particular, but memories in general. I think they're meant to do that. After all, lilies _do _mean loss, solace in a time of grief. There's something beautiful about the sentiment, isn't there? That love remains despite death and beyond it? I guess it's just the hopeless romantic in me talking. But I always thought – and I still do, in fact – that white lilies are beautiful.

But I know that he does not like them, so I put in a few red roses and a few brightly colored wildflowers in with the lilies. If that makes him happy. Finally pleased with the arrangement I tie a pale blue ribbon around the basket, just like the sash he wore around his waist, especially during the last few days. It is for him what lilies are to me: they trigger remembrance, and those last days he wanted to remember.

I pick the basket up off the counter and carry it towards the door. I know I ought to find Shikamaru and Chouji soon, so that we can visit his grave together. Shikamaru is always easy to find, especially on days like this – he is standing, I am certain, on the Academy's rooftop smoking a cigarette and pretending for all the world that Asuma-sensei is with him. Chouji, on the other hand, is harder to read, and I know it will be some time before we find him. I have a hunch as to where he's gone, though.

I close the door behind me and hear the tinkle of the attached bell.

"Happy birthday, Asuma-sensei," I whisper, and I do not know why but I am sure he hears it.

**IV.**

It's early morning and the weak sunshine proves that. The wind blows softly and almost morosely through the grass growing on his grave, and it feels as if he's still here somehow. I can't help but feel that. We may never have been as close as he and Shikamaru were, nor was he as protective to me as he was to Ino, but that doesn't matter. He was my sensei, and I love him all the same.

He was hard not to look up to, even in the beginning. The son of the Sandaime Hokage. That alone was already enough to put me, then a twelve-year-old, in awe of him. But that respect born from relation turned into something much deeper than that when he trained us, when he talked to us, when he _taught _us and when he touched our lives in ways we cannot always explain. He wasn't just his father's son. He was our sensei, and in our opinion the best sensei anyone could ever have.

There's something in his eyes that tells you that he cares. And he always does. He has a big heart, and in it he carried not just us, his 'children', his Team Asuma. He carried all of Konoha in it. We are not the only ones who feel the pain of losing him. There are so many others who grieve, and we cannot blame them in the least. He's the kind you mourn for long after he leaves. He's also the kind who will hate being mourned for, because he never wants to upset anyone.

Today's a special occasion, though.

"Happy birthday, Asuma-sensei," I say, just in time to notice that Shikamaru and Ino have found me here. I turn around and for some reason feel that wherever Asuma-sensei is, he hears me.

_**Author's Note: **_This was interesting to write. I liked Asuma and was sad to see him go. So on his birthday – October 18 – I'd like to wish him a very happy, happy birthday.


End file.
